Descending
by MidnightRequiem
Summary: Based on a mix of LerouxALW...Christine must come to terms with the harsh reality that is her life after Erik's death. An EC story in the making. Please R&R...


"Descending"

**A/N**: This is my first phic, and I actually began writing it about 3 years ago. I decided to pick up on it recently and actually develop it into a longer story. Rating may change toRfor future chapters. cough smut cough

Please read and review…I live on constructive criticism.

As I tread behind my angel through the darkness of the caverns, I am enveloped in the night: the only light that penetrates through the blackness is the fire of my guide's two burning yellow orbs; they sense my fear and reassure me with a steadfast gaze. His hand grasps mine ever so lightly, as if he is afraid of contact. His gentle, barely there grip leads me forward in this maze of darkness that only he holds the key to. I trust him, however, for although he is not really the Angel of Music, but a man, he has the voice of a dark angel that seduces my senses and caresses my very soul. He is my teacher; my mentor, my savior, and for that I would gladly put my life in his hands. I know he will never harm me intentionally, unless provoked, and even then it would not be severe. What can I say? He's a very complicated, intriguing man and almost impossible to figure out. I do know, however, that his touch ignites my soul and sends shivers through my entire being. How strange that some say my dark angel's hands are the "hands of death," for that is certainly not the case. I've long wanted to express my feelings to my angel, this tender, mysterious man, but I cannot bring myself to it. Oh, I've tried…several times in fact: instances where if I could only have breached the gap of my hand and his out stretched one, I might have proved something not only to him, but to myself. But, alas, I am a coward; still a blushing, innocent girl, not a woman as I should be. Ah, time to prove to him there is something more than fondness I feel towards him; if only I could express myself through contact…an idea sparks my mind as we reach the underground lake.

He escorts me into the gondola, as it rocks gently upon my entrance into its majestic form, and then with feline-like grace, enters himself. It is with the same enticing grace that he poles us across the dark waters of this labyrinth, his eyes never leaving mine for an instant. We haven't spoken since he called on me from my dressing room, and I begin to wonder what exactly is running through his mind…sometimes it is hard to read his emotions. Regrettably, I have to break our gaze as I move to the bow of the boat and seat myself on the velvety-soft pillow he so thoughtfully placed there. "He always seems to know just exactly what needs I encompass," I think, peering into the dark, glossy surface of the lake below. I turn to face him once again, this intriguing masked man who has captured my heart and ignited my soul, only to see a look of pain and sadness in his glowing yellow eyes. "He looks so incredibly forlorn," I think dejectedly to myself, "Mon Dieu! I must be causing him pain! He must think I truly do not care for him! Well, Christine, it's time to put that plan of yours into action…it's now are never…" As he docks the boat and helps me out onto the shore, the entrance to his hidden lair lies in wait, though I stand waiting for him to finish with the task. As he turns to face me, I approach him with determination. He looks confused with my bold approach, and raises an eyebrow in curiosity, for I have never done this of my own free will. Our bodies are only inches apart as I gaze deeply into his puzzled yellow orbs. He inhales sharply, holding his breath, and my heart feels as if it will beat out of my chest. I wonder if he can hear it. I glance at his white half-mask then slowly bring my hand up to caress his unmasked cheek. "Christine…" I hear him whisper. I reach to take his mask, but am stopped by his hand, holding me back. His face, as he feels, is a monstrosity that separates him from the human race, condemned to darkness. Trying to reassure him, I say softly, "Please, Erik…trust me, Mon ange." He concedes, and drops his hand to his side, inside of his black flowing cloak. I feel him stiffen, become rigid, shielding himself from any screams he thought I may issue once I remove the mask. "My poor Erik," I whisper, "I am no longer afraid of your face, Mon ange; it is just a face, nothing more…it does not define who you are."

"Christine?" He questions.

"Shhh," I tell him tenderly, softly placing a finger over his malformed lips as I untie the ribbon that holds the mask to his face and remove it. He shuts his eyes tightly as I examine his ravaged skin fully for the first time. "Oh Erik," I say, running my hand softly over his deformed face. I feel him shiver, sending pulses of excitement through me. I let my hand come to rest, cupping his chin softly. He opens his eyes, bearing them into mine. "Christine," he says harshly, sadly, "Do not torment me, child. I do not enjoy being taunted with things I can't have. I know you belong to the Vicomte…do not make it more painful than it already is."

"Vicomte? You mean Raoul," I chuckle softly at his misunderstanding, "You think Raoul and I are engaged? Oh, Erik…of course not; Raoul and I are just childhood friends, no more. And as for me tormenting you, well why on Earth would I torment you when I…when I love you," I finish shyly, blushing slightly.

"What…what did you say?" He gasps, taken aback.

"I said, Mon aime, that I love you…" I reply with more determination and resolve I didn't even know I possessed. Having said this, I place my hands around his neck and kiss him. Fire seems to run through my blood with the kiss as Erik responds after overcoming the initial shock of it. He has never been kissed in the entirety of the fifty years he has been on this planet, not even his mother has never kissed him, yet he is quick to learn. As the kiss deepens, he tentatively wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. I feel his hard thighs press onto mine, bringing a blush to my cheek, and time seems to stop. After what seems like just seconds, we part, but I wish the moment could have lasted for all eternity. I stand of my tip toes to reach his ear and say tenderly, "Erik I…I love you."

"Christine, you've no idea how I've longed to hear you say that…from the first time I set eyes on you, I hoped that somehow, someday…"

I cut him off midway into his speech, pressing another kiss to his lips. This time, his kiss is searing, as if he wants to insure that I am not just a vision before him. I reassure him that I am indeed tangible by raking my hands tenderly through his tufts of jet-black hair, causing him to release a sigh of delight. As we part, he gazes lovingly into my eyes, and whispers softly, "Oh Christine…mon ange, mon amour," as he buries his face into my hair and begins to cry with happiness, his tears cascade softly into my brown tresses. I can hear the pounding of his heartbeat through his waistcoat. It intensifies, becoming louder…and louder…

"Christine? Christine!" A loud shout accompanied the equally loud pounding on the door of Christine's flat. She sighed audibly, ignoring the disruptive shouts of her landlord, and turned over in her small bed. She went through the ritual pattern of shaking herself from the bittersweet dream – monologue that constantly penetrated her mind for the last past year while she slept, leaving her with an insatiable ache in her heart and soul.

This morning seemed worse than the others, perhaps because it had been exactly a year since she left Erik in the darkness of the Opera cellars. A stab of pain and remorse hit her, as she lay in the dark, alone; tears streaming freely down her alabaster cheeks, marring her features. "Erik…" she whispered sadly as the thoughts of her current predicament coursed through her troubled mind.

No one on this Earth was left who might care for her. She had seen the message in the Epogue; she spent the entire day in silent repose, quietly mourning the death of her dark mentor. Raoul had seen it, too and after heaving a sigh of relief, forbid Christine to fulfill her promise to the "monster." She was indignant, but said nothing. It was useless to argue with Raoul. He was ever the protector to her and refused to let her go near the "monster" again. "One escapade is quite enough," he had said, ending the discussion.

After that, things had gone well enough. She and Raoul had been married at a private ceremony in a small church and honeymooned in London, then settled permanently in a villa in the south of France. Life with Raoul was…ordinary. After the night in the lair, she grew to love Raoul as a sister might love an older brother, nothing more. The Vicomte's caresses never really stirred her soul, never ignited her being. The childhood romance had revealed itself to what it really was: a shallow infatuation.

A few months later, Raoul and Christine had been strolling through the countryside in the moonlight. They strayed off of their residential path and continued walking down the more public roadside. It was then that they were accosted by a shadowy assailant…a homeless ruffian who demanded Raoul give him all the money on his personage. When Raoul had refused, the thief grew livid with the Vicomte's uncooperative behavior and a swift, sharp stab to his stomach left Christine's husband hunched over in the street, blood sprouting from his handsome mouth. By the time Christine stopped screaming long enough to kneel down and attend to him, he was dead.  
Things declined rapidly after the Vicomte's death. She found that she was nearly destitute and could not keep the opulent villa. Christine was forced to move to Paris in the hopes of renting a small flat and working somewhere…doing something. She was able to find a job as a seamstress in a local shop to make ends meet. As a former ingenue, sewing was not quite her forte, but she got by. Barely. 

Living on her own was not an easy task. She was plagued daily with the demons of her past. The demons that taunted her, saying, "Your husband's dead! He's dead, Erik is dead! Dead, dead, dead!" She too felt dead. Christine was left each day to reflect on her memories, to mourn her losses.

Yes, Christine was devastated with the death of her husband, though she never regarded him with the same passion as she did her Phantom. With Erik, it was a different kind of love…a darker, deeper, more passionate one: an awakening of her soul. He held a certain magnetism over her with his supreme enigma. He could be so alluring and entrancing one moment, then terrifying and menacing the next; he could be positively insane and ranting as if possessed and then crumpled in resignation, shoulders heaving with his struggled cries. This was the Erik she had known – this was the Erik who had captivated her, frightened her, seduced her…loved her.

All of the thoughts of Erik ran through her tortured mind as her tears flowed less frequently upon her cheeks. He was such a complex creature…so many moods, so many layers…and his touch…the touch that both frightened her and exhilarated her. Raoul's touch was nothing compared to **his.** **His **touch, **his** kiss…Christine brought one trembling finger to her lips. They still tingled with the lingering feeling of his lips pressing onto hers; tentatively, at first, then with growing intensity that made the hot blood of unbridled passion course through her veins. Originally, it was only supposed to be a mere bribe, an escape option from the man who had imprisoned her and her fiancé in his dark labyrinth, beneath the opera. But after the kiss, after the way his arms cautiously encircled her…she did not know if she wanted to escape. Ever. But it was too late now…she had allowed Raoul to lead her out of his lair, his dark sanctum. It was her fault; she did not follow her heart and soul. Her mind screamed, "Leave! He will kill Raoul!" while her heart protested vehemently, "He is my angel, my mentor, my love. I cannot leave him." At that moment, Christine's mind presided over her heart and she left her dark angel forever…left him reduced to sobbing, his shoulders sagging as he succumbed to defeat, on the floor of his underground prison, left him to die. And now she was paying for it. Dearly.

To be continued…  



End file.
